Not the Marrying Kind(37)
She must’ve caught the sincerity in his tone because she half turned, studying him with wary interest. “Then why?”
“Because I can’t keep my hands off you,” he blurted, encouraged by her wide-eyed surprise. “You distract me, and I can’t afford distractions, not while this deal hangs in the balance. So it’s easier to not have you around, tempting me to…”
“What?”
He could’ve sworn the air between them crackled as he debated telling her all of it. He’d come this far. If he wanted to change the outcome of tonight, now was the time to go the whole way. “To lose control.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, more rattled now than the first time he stumbled on his folks spaced out in the backyard. “You’re driving me crazy. You’re all I can think about. Work used to consume me. I’m always in control there. But you—” He grabbed her upper arms, hauled her close. “You’re making me lose it and I’m freaking out.”
She eyeballed him, direct, unflinching, so he saw the moment she shifted from belligerent to appreciative. “You want me, huh?”
“What do you think?” He pulled her in closer still, leaving her in little doubt how much.
“Well, too damn bad.” She tried to push him away but he didn’t budge, liking having her close way too much to be good for him. “You can’t have it both ways, hotshot.”
“Wanna make a bet?”
His best smile had little effect, if the frown between her brows was any indication. “Not interested in gambling.”
“Yet you gambled on me?”
“Correction: you left me no choice but to marry you, remember?”
His conscience pricked for a second, until he remembered Stan giving him another chance at the reception and his guilt eased. “What’s a little blackmail between friends?”
“Friends?” She snorted and tried shoving him away again. “We were never friends.”
“How about taking a shot at lovers, then.”
She shook her head. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Not in my vocab.” His hands splayed across the small of her back and he watched her eyes widen and the tip of her tongue dart out to moisten her lower lip. He wasn’t imagining the flare of heat in her gaze or the involuntary arch toward him as his hand drifted lower to caress her butt.
“So you think you can banish me to the desert, but I’ll jump into bed with you when it’s convenient?”
He winced at her blunt assessment of the situation. “I think we’ll be happier living apart, and yeah, I want you.” He tried another coaxing smile. “We may have a fake marriage, but how about we go have ourselves a real wedding night to remember?”
“I hate you,” she muttered, indecision pinching the corners of her lush mouth. “But I have to give you points for being up front about what you want.”
“What do you want?”
She hesitated an eternity, gnawing on her bottom lip, before her challenging gaze met his.
“You.”
Chapter Ten
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:
Playlist: “Poker Face” by Lady Ga-Ga
Movie: Waiting to Exhale
Cocktail: Avalanche
Beck liked no-fuss.
He dated, he had sex.
Complication free.
But as he stepped into the bedroom of his penthouse suite with Poppy wedged against his side and watched her face flush with pleasure at the sight of the bed, he had the distinct feeling he’d initiated one big complication waiting to happen.
“You did this?” She slipped out from under his arm and padded toward the bed.
“Yeah.”
Her fingertips trailed through the hundreds of poppies strewn across the black satin coverlet.
His gut clenched. Was the gesture too corny? Too overt? Too much?
She picked up a delicate flower and lifted it to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled. A slow, sweet smile tilted her mouth as she brushed the petals across her cheek and opened her eyes, fixing him with a seductive stare that socked him like a knockout punch he’d once experienced in the schoolyard. “Considering your obvious obsession with all things poppy, I’m starting to doubt your masculinity.”
He relaxed at her playful tone and stalked toward her. “You won’t be saying that come morning.”
She laughed, a simple joyous sound that made him want to hold her all night long, and reinforced what he already knew deep down. Sleeping with her would guarantee complications with a capital C.
“Confident much?”
“You tell me.” He backed her up a few inches until her knees hit the bed and she fell backward.
“I’ll have to see what you’ve got first,” she said, radiant in a sea of poppies, her arms stretched overhead, elevating her dress to X-rated proportions as it revealed a tempting expanse of thigh.